Malaria
by Slick1
Summary: AJ gets sick while he and Mac are at a conference, and Mac has to take care of him.


  


**Malaria**

_JAG and the characters are the property of Donald Bellasario, Paramount and CBS. No copyright infringement intended._

_This takes place near the end of the fourth season._   


* * *

Mac glanced at the admiral from the corner of her eye. They had just finished attending a three-day conference on trends in military justice, at which the admiral had been a keynote speaker. Now they were winding down at the farewell cocktail party. Mac nursed her ginger ale as she continued to observe her boss overtly. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was definitely wrong with him. 

He must be tired, she thought. The seminar's schedule had been packed from morning 'til night with lectures, working groups, and meetings. And of course there had been breakfasts, lunches, and dinners in between, not to mention a golf tournament -- something the admiral had taken advantage of. And his foursome won first prize, too. Of course Mac had congratulated him, diplomatically forgetting to point out that he'd been teamed with three ringers. That wasn't even counting the hours he'd spent agonizing over his speech. All in all, it was enough to tire out even a SEAL. 

She knew her CO well enough to know that he'd never admit he was tired, so she decided to take pity on him. At the next lull in the conversation, she graced the three-star Army General they were talking to with her most dazzling smile and said, "At the risk of giving Marines a bad reputation, I think I'm going to turn in early this evening. We have to take the first plane out of here in the morning." 

The admiral picked up on the opening she had provided and said he should probably be leaving, too. He shook hands with the general and turned to escort Mac out of the crowded room. 

"Thank you, Major. That guy was boring me to tears." 

"No problem, Sir. But are you sure that's all it is? Boredom?" she asked. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he countered sharply. 

"Uh, I couldn't help but notice that you don't look like you're feeling well," she answered cautiously. 

"I'm fine, Major. Nothing a good night's sleep won't put to rights," he said firmly. 

"If you say so," she said reluctantly. "You go on up, Sir," she said as they approached the elevators. "I'm going to check with the front desk to see if we have any faxes." As if the hectic conference schedule weren't enough, the admiral had received a steady stream of faxes and "urgent" calls from the office since he'd been gone. 

"If there's even one fax, someone's head's gonna roll," the admiral vowed. "For God's sake, I'll be back in the office in 14 hours, you'd think they could wait until then to pester me." He ran a hand across his brow. Mac noticed with alarm that a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. 

"On second thought, Admiral, I think I'll go up with you," she said. "Anything that's come in can wait." 

"No, go ahead," he said wearily. "If there is something I might as well deal with it tonight. That'll be one less thing to worry about when I get back. As it is I doubt I'll be able to see my desk for a week." 

"Don't worry about it, Sir, I can never see my desk," Mac said brightly. Seeing the look he gave her, she decided maybe that hadn't been the best tactic to take. "I'll go get the faxes, Sir," she said sheepishly. 

She walked over to the front desk and ask the clerk if there was anything for them. As she waited for him to check, she watched the admiral waiting for the elevator to arrive. She would swear he was slouching. The admiral never slouched. Alarm moved through her. He must really be sick, she thought. She crossed her fingers and hoped that no work would be waiting in their box. 

No such luck. The clerk handed her a thick sheaf of faxes. Sighing, Mac thanked him and hurried to catch the admiral as he stepped onto an elevator. Seeing what she held, he groaned. 

"No rest for the wicked, I see," he commented dryly. 

"I don't know about that, Sir, but it doesn't look like WE'RE going to get any rest anytime soon," she said with a wry smile. 

Mac followed him into his suite, which was equipped with a living room and a kitchen along with the usual bedroom and bathroom. The phone's message light was blinking. "I'll check those, Sir," she offered. He nodded and wandered toward the refrigerator. Mac quickly retrieved the messages -- two from Bud about various administrative details, one from someone in the SecNav's press office about setting up an interview for the following week, and one from Tiner saying that Harm was trying to reach him about a case. Mac ruthlessly deleted them all, figuring they could wait until tomorrow. 

"Nothing urgent," she assured her CO. 

"Good," he said, handing her a bottle of water from the fridge and opening the one he'd gotten for himself. He drained almost the entire bottle; then heaving a sigh, he threw himself down on the couch and waved the Major down next to him. 

"Let's see what we've got," he said. 

She began sorting through the pages, handing the faxes over one by one. She grabbed a pad and pen from the coffee table and began taking notes as he issued instructions on how each item should be dealt with. While he was examining a letter from the Pentagon, she managed to slip a few of the less important missives out of sight between the cushions. 

As they worked through the pile, Mac's concern grew as the admiral's attention wavered. He kept rubbing his neck and wiping perspiration from his face, and his eyes had taken on a glassy look. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore. 

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" she asked. 

"Go ahead." 

"You look like hell," she said. 

"Hey!" he said sharply. "I didn't give you permission to speak that freely!" 

"Sir, we both know you're sick," she said patiently. "Why don't you just admit it and go to bed? This stuff can wait. You probably just have a touch of the flu. It's nothing to be ashamed of -- even admirals get sick occasionally." 

"I wish it were just a touch of the flu," he said regretfully. 

"Sir?" 

"Mac, I'm afraid I'm about to suffer from a bout of malaria," he explained. 

"Malaria!" she exclaimed, shocked. 

"Yeah. I've felt it coming on for a day. I was just hoping I could hold it off until we got back home so could I feel lousy in the comfort of my own bed. 

"Sir, when did you catch malaria?" she asked. 

"Picked it up in 'Nam. Damn near killed me the first time -- I wasn't anywhere near a medic station. But since then it's been much milder. I haven't had an outbreak in years. Almost forgot all about it until yesterday." 

"We've got to get you to a hospital," she said, walking over to the phone. "I'll call the front desk. They can get us a cab." 

"Belay, that, Major," he said. "I'm not going to the hospital." 

"What? Why not? Sir, you should know better than anyone that malaria is nothing to mess around with." 

"I'm not going to the hospital!" he yelled. "How would that look, a SEAL letting a little conference put him in the hospital?" 

"I don't think anyone is going to think of less of you for getting proper medical treatment. Sir, with all due respect, you're being ridiculous!" she said in frustration. 

"Major, you're a fine lawyer and a real asset to JAG, so I'm going to overlook that last comment," he said warningly. 

"But Sir . . ." 

"For the last time, I am not going to the hospital. I'm going to lie down on that bed and be really damned miserable for about 24 hours. You are going to call JAG first thing in the morning and tell them we got held up. The conference got extended, we got invited to a live-fire exercise, just make something up. Rebook our tickets for Thursday." 

"Yes, Sir," she said reluctantly. 

"Good. Then if you'd be kind enough to look in on me every four hours or so and maybe toss me a bottle of water from the fridge, I'll be fine. Dismissed," he finished up, turning toward the bedroom. 

"Nice try, Sir," Mac said. 

"What do you mean, 'nice try'?" he asked harshly, turning back to face her. 

"Look, you can order me not to take you to the hospital, but there's no way in hell I'm just going to leave you in here alone," she insisted. 

"Mac . . ." 

"Look, this is for my sake, not yours," she assured him. "If you die and I go back to the office without you, someone's bound to notice. It could really mess up my career. So for the next 24 hours, I'M in charge, got that?" 

"Major!" 

"I said GOT THAT?!" she barked. 

He could see she was determined, and he was too tired to argue. All he could think about was getting out of this damned uniform and into bed. "Yes, ma'am," he said meekly. 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mac had to stifle a grin. Harm would never believe her when she told him how she'd managed to shout down the admiral. Briskly, she got to work. She walked to the phone and called down to housekeeping. "Yes, this is room 1240. I'll need three sets of sheets and about 20 extra bathtowels. Oh, and send up a few pillows and another blanket, please. I won't be here, so just set them inside the door. No this isn't a prank, just do it!" she said in her best Marine voice. Then she turned back to her CO. 

"Sir, hand me the room key. I'm going to go down to the drug store around the corner and get some supplies. While I'm gone you can change into your pajamas and get in bed." She took the key he handed her and started to leave, then turned back around thoughtfully. "Uh, Sir, you DO sleep in pajamas, don't you?" 

"No," he said, bringing a blush to her cheeks. "But I'll make an exception in this case. I think I packed some sweats that will suffice." He smiled as she turned around and scurried out. 

The smile faded as the door closed behind her. Dammit, why did this have to happen while he was out of town? And why did it have to be Mac that was with him? He knew from experience that in a few hours he'd be delirious with fever and babbling God knows what nonsense. He only prayed he wouldn't say anything embarrassing. And then there was the nausea. It was only a matter of time before he started puking his guts out. Not the kind of thing you wanted to do in front of a subordinate, let alone a female one. And especially not Mac. 

Maybe he'd try one more time to order her out when she got back, he thought as he stripped out of his uniform and carefully hung it in the closet. He knew it would be a wasted effort. When she got that look of determination on her face, nothing was going to stop her, come hell or high water. Normally it was a trait he admired. Right now it was proving damn annoying. 

He went to the bathroom and briefly considered taking a shower. But the thought of doing anything but crawling into bed was too much to consider. He settled for splashing some water on his head. Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out a pair of sweat pants. He decided that with those and his t-shirt he was decent enough. He climbed into bed and prepared to be miserable. 

**** 

Mac walked back into the admiral's room loaded down with bags. She noted the pile of linens and towels by the door as she went past into the kitchen to unload her purchases. 

"Major, that you?" he called groggily from the bedroom. 

"Yes, Sir. How are you feeling?" she asked as she pulled out a liter of tonic water. 

"Shitty," he grumbled. 

"Hey, don't sugarcoat it for me!" Mac laughed. She filled a glass with ice and tonic water and walked into the bedroom to hand it to him, switching on a lamp on the way. "Here, drink this. It's got quinine in it. Isn't that supposed to be good for malaria?" 

"The only thing that's going to make me feel better at this point is a gun to my head," he groused. 

"Well, sorry, I didn't bring my sidearm with me to the conference," she said. "You'll have to settle for some Advil." She opened the bottle and shook some pills into his hand. She watched him swallow them, along with the rest of the tonic water. Then she took the glass from him and helped him settle back down in bed. She put a hand to his forehead -- a little warm, but not too bad yet. 

Going next door to her room, she made a quick call to the airline to change their tickets. After she changed into shorts and a t-shirt and got ready for bed, she peeked down the hall to make sure the coast was clear. It wouldn't do to get caught sneaking into her CO's room late at night. She let herself back into the admiral's room and hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. Then she went to the couch, which she found to her relief was a fold-out. Pulling out the mattress, she made up the bed and settled in for the night. 

**** 

"Where is she?? Where the hell is she?" 

Mac bolted upright. 

"You'd better tell me where they are right now, or so help me God I'll nail your ass to the wall!" 

Mac scrambled up and ran into the bedroom. The admiral was covered in sweat and moving restlessly on the bed, getting tangled in the sheets. She sat on the edge of the bed and felt his forehead. He was burning up. 

Going into the bathroom to wet down a towel, she returned to find him mumbling incoherently. She sat back down and began wiping his forehead with the towel, trying to cool him down. She stroked the towel across his face, then down his neck and arms, getting up several times to rewet it with cold water. Realizing that his t-shirt was soaked with sweat, she started to pull it off of him. Just as she got it over his head and down his arms, he sat up and looked her right in the eye. 

Relieved, she asked, "How are you feeling?" 

"How do you think I'm feeling, dammit?" he growled. She chuckled and started to rise so she could rewet the towel. He stopped her with a hand around her upper arm. 

"How could you just leave me like that?" he demanded. "How could you take my little girl away from me, without even a word?" 

Mac quickly realized he was still in the grip of a vision from his past. She gasped in surprise as he placed a tender hand to her cheek. 

"Marcella, I'm sorry," he said remorsefully. "I didn't know you wanted me to come after you. I thought I was doing what would make you happy. That's all I ever wanted -- for you and Francesca to be happy." 

The regret and sadness in his eyes was enough to bring a lump to Mac's throat. She decided that playing along was the best way to soothe him. 

"I know, AJ," she said softly, placing her hand over his where it rested against her face. "I know you were just trying to do the right thing. It's okay, go back to sleep." She murmured to him comfortingly and managed to settle him back down. Then she wet the towel down once more and began to wipe it across his chest. 

Mac admitted to herself that she'd always been the tiniest bit curious what her CO would look like with his shirt off. The few times she'd seen him in civilian clothes hadn't offered much of a clue, but there was no doubt he filled out his uniform nicely. Now as she ran the towel across his overheated skin -- strictly for medicinal purposes, of course -- she noted that what she'd always suspected was true: he had a very nice chest. Broad, muscular, with a generous coating of hair -- all in all, a fine specimen of masculinity. She giggled and pulled her thoughts up short. If the admiral knew she was letting thoughts like that run though her head, he'd kick her out for sure! 

She continued her ministrations for more than 40 minutes, and it seemed to help a little -- his skin was a bit cooler, and he was less restless. Finally his eyes opened again, clearer than before, and he seemed to be aware of his surroundings. He glanced down at where her hands held the towel to his bare chest, then back up at her, and the fevered flush in his cheeks got a bit deeper. Hastily she dropped her hands to her sides and asked him how he was feeling. 

He put a hand across his eyes and let out a groan. "I've had better days, Mac," he said. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He hesitated. "Was I . . . did I say anything stupid?" 

She smiled reassuringly. "No, Sir. You just . . . I think you were thinking about your wife." 

"Mac," he said after a pause. "You really don't have to stay here. I hate to tell you this, but it just goes downhill from here." 

"All the more reason to keep an eye on you, Sir, so you might as well save your breath," she assured him. She went to the kitchen and brought him back a cold bottle of water. "Here, drink this and take some more Advil. You've got quite a fever going." 

He gulped down the water and the pills gratefully, then pulled himself out of bed. 

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked in disbelief. 

"To the bathroom, do you mind?" he shot back. 

It was Mac's turn to blush. "Oh, no, sorry, Sir," she stammered, moving back into the living room. Not long after she heard him reemerge and settle back into bed. Glancing in a few minutes later, she saw that he was asleep. She climbed into her bed and quickly fell back to sleep herself. 

*** 

The pattern repeated itself several more times during the night -- the admiral talking deliriously, Mac cooling him down with wet towels until he settled back to sleep. Once he was obviously reliving the death of Laura Delaney, and it was all she could do to keep him in bed as he thrashed and moaned, apparently trying to save his girlfriend as he had been unable to do in real life. Another time he gave Harm a good ass-chewing about some stupid stunt he had pulled. Mac felt bad for Harm -- he had probably been on the receiving end of that tirade in real life at one point. 

It was almost dawn when she was awakened again. This time he was mostly muttering incoherently, but as she approached the bed she heard her name. 

"Sarah, it's okay, it's not your fault." 

Mac instantly recalled the first time he had spoken those words to her. It was the night of his party for Francesca; the night just after Dalton was killed; the night after she had gotten drunk for the first time in years. She was steeped in bitter thoughts as she walked into the bathroom for a wet towel. 

He continued to mumble as she began once again the process of wiping his hot skin with the cool towel. 

"You think if you'd been stronger, Lowne wouldn't have been killed, but it's not true." 

Mac's eyes filled with tears as the disturbing emotions from that night washed over her again. A few escaped, dropping onto his chest as she leaned over him. 

Almost as though he felt them, AJ opened his eyes. "Mac, it's okay. Don't beat yourself up. You're a strong woman, but you're not omnipotent. You didn't fail." 

Her tears fell faster. The pain of that night merged with more recent pain, the remembrance of more recent failures. Her CO was acquitting her of blame in Dalton's death, but he had not done the same for her actions surrounding Chris's death. Then, he had told her in no uncertain terms how disappointed he was in her. His words had cut her deeply -- mainly because they were true. And because she cared so much about what he thought of her. Hearing his supportive words from an earlier time just reinforced to her how much she'd lost by what she'd done. 

She looked into his eyes, but she could tell he wasn't really seeing her. She got up shakily and rinsed out the towel again, giving herself a chance to gather her emotions. 

As she returned to his side, he suddenly pushed himself into a sitting position. 

"Sir," she said, "lay down." She tried to coax him back down on the bed, but he resisted her efforts. For the second time that night, he put his hand to her cheek, and it burned where it touched her skin. 

"Sarah," he whispered. "You're so strong. I've watched you come so far in your time at JAG. I'm proud of you." 

A sob escaped her as his words drove the pain deeper into her heart. 

He brought his other hand up and gently brushed the moisture from her face with his thumbs. "Shhh, it's okay," he whispered. "I know you've made mistakes, but hell, we all have. 

"I know I was hard on you, but I expect a lot from you. And most of the time you live up to my expectations. That's why I was so upset by what you did. And I was mad at you for not coming to me for help, for not trusting me. And I was angry at myself because I didn't make you feel like you could." 

Mac held her breath. Did he know how much she feared that she'd lost his respect forever? It was hard to tell how much of what he was saying was real and how much was a product of his fever. She wished she could see what he was reliving in his mind's eye. 

"Mac, I hate to see you hurting. You're a good person. You're so beautiful. Not just on the outside, but inside, too. I want to protect you, but I can't. Sometimes I want to do more than just protect you, but I can't do that either. I shouldn't even want to, but sometimes . . ." he trailed off, leaning his head back, his eyes still glazed with fever. 

Abruptly Mac remembered the other significant part of that night gone by . . . that moment when their hands had touched, and an unexpected current of electricity had passed between them. She had slowly looked up and met the admiral's eyes, her hand still touching his, and his face had ever so slowly moved down toward hers. She should have been shocked -- any other time, she would have been -- but somehow at that moment it had seemed the most natural thing in the world, and she had moved tentatively to meet him halfway. They had hovered with their mouths inches away from each other for a brief eternity, and then she felt him pull back, even before he moved. "This is wrong," he had said, and all she could say was, "Yes, Sir," because she knew it was true. 

And then the horror that followed had virtually driven the moment from her mind, until her CO had obliquely reminded her. He'd told Harm, "The Major knows what's right," and she'd understood what he meant even though Harm didn't. She'd never told her partner about that almost-lapse. 

For a long time after that, there had been an awkwardness between her and the admiral. When they found themselves together in the office kitchen -- and of course it suddenly seemed to happen all the time -- they danced around each other, physically and emotionally. Neither wanted to touch the other, even casually; they consciously or unconsciously tried to prove to themselves and each other that nothing had happened. And nothing had. Gradually the tension had eased, until she felt perfectly comfortable snatching the last two oatmeal creme pies out of the box he was holding when she really needed a sugar fix to deal with Harm and Brumby. Even his comments about duty after Chloe had shot her mouth off in his office hadn't renewed the tension. And she had pushed the episode to the back of her mind. Until now. 

"Mac . . ." AJ said softly, desperately. He gently pulled her face closer and placed his lips on hers. 

Like his hands, his lips were burning hot. And like his hands, his lips burned her, sending heat through her body. Part of her mind was amazed at her reaction to his kiss. She had known for a very long time that she was in love with Harm, as hopeless as that love sometimes seemed to be. But another part of her recognized that she had long felt some kind of attraction for AJ, even before their almost-kiss. Partly because she respected and admired him so much; partly because he had done so much to help her and had treated her with a respect that she wasn't used to. And partly because as a woman she recognized that he was a very handsome, very sexy man. 

But she'd never thought the buzz of attraction would go anywhere, even after their near-miss. Now he was moving his lips sensuously over hers and all she could think of was that he kissed pretty good for a sick man. For a minute she gave herself up to the kiss, letting the heat wash over her, certain he would never remember it later. But when he moved to deepen the kiss she decided it was time to stop things before they got carried away. She eased back, and he let her go with a murmur of protest. 

"Can't have you, Sarah. I'm not the one for you. I know that. But sometimes I still dream about you . . . ." 

Mac reached out her hand and tenderly stroked his cheek. "You know what's right, don't you, Sir?" 

"Yeah, know what's right," he mumbled. 

"Sir, lay down now, okay? Just take a little nap, you'll feel better." Gradually she coaxed him back down into the bed and resumed her ministrations. Before long he had settled down into a more restful sleep, but his skin was still burning hot. Getting worried, she went to the kitchen and filled one of the plastic sacks from her shopping trip with ice. She wrapped it in a towel and lay the makeshift ice pack across his chest. Then she went to make another, and another, until he was covered with them. She sat back and watched him anxiously, wiping the sweat from his face and checking and rechecking his forehead. Finally his fever broke, and this time when he opened his eyes and looked at her, she could tell he was really seeing her. 

"How are you feeling, Sir?" she asked anxiously. 

"Mmmmm . . . I was having a nice dream," he mumbled. Then his eyes flew open as he remembered just what he'd been dreaming about. He glanced up at Mac. It HAD just been a dream, hadn't it? He narrowed her eyes and studied her face. She met his gaze for a moment and then dropped her eyes. He decided to assume for the sake of their working relationship -- and his sanity -- that it had been only a dream. 

He blinked, and a bemused expression crossed his face. He looked down at the makeshift icepacks surrounding him. 

"Major, is there some reason I'm packed on ice like a dead fish?" he asked. 

"You were burning up," Mac explained. "It was either ice you down or use you as a space heater." She put a hand to his forehead and noted with satisfaction that it was cool to the touch. She began taking away the packs and dumping them in the bathtub. Then she went to the kitchen to bring him some more water, which he accepted gratefully. 

He took a long gulp and then looked up at Mac, who was sitting at the edge of the bed, watching him. With regret he realized that her eyes were shadowed with dark circles. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, he saw that it was after 0600. She must have been sitting up with him most of the night . And there was something else -- her eyes were red and swollen, as if she had been crying. His thoughts flew back to his dream. 

Cautiously, he reached out his hand to cover hers where it lay beside him on the bed. 

"Mac, thank you for taking care of me," he said. He pulled his hand back. 

"No problem, Admiral," she assured him. "You'd have done the same for me." 

He continued to look at her, thinking about his dream. It occurred to him that this night might be the best opportunity he'd get to set some things straight between them. 

"Mac," he began. He hesitated, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. Clearing his throat, he began again. 

"Mac, have I told you lately how proud I am of you?" he asked. He was startled to see her eyes fill with tears that she steadfastly refused to let fall. He put a hand on her arm. "I know that I was really hard on you during your Captain's Mast. And I don't take back anything I said then. I WAS disappointed in you, and you DID let me down." He heard her inhale sharply, but she didn't let the tears escape. 

"I was disappointed in you because you'd always conducted yourself with such distinction and honor that you set very high expectations for yourself. And I was disappointed that you didn't see fit to let your CO help you with your problem." His voice softened. "And I was angry at myself because I didn't make you feel like you could trust me." 

"But Admiral," she protested. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you. I just didn't . . . ." She bit her lip. "You always treated me with such respect, and I didn't . . . I guess I just didn't want to lose that respect. And then I did anyway," she finished, swiping her hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears. She was NOT going to cry in front of him, she swore to herself. 

"Sarah, you didn't lose my respect," AJ assured her. "Just because I was disappointed with what you did doesn't change my estimation of you as a person. And you haven't given me any cause to revise that opinion since. You are a great lawyer, a fine Marine, and a good person. And that's why I'm proud of you," he finished. 

Mac couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She hated appearing weak in front of him, but she was so relieved and moved by his words. And wasn't hating to appear weak part of what had kept her from accepting his help with Chris? 

"Mac, it's okay," AJ said. Without thinking, he pulled her head down to his chest, stroking her hair and shushing her. And despite the intimacy of their situation, there was no tension between them -- just a giving and receiving of comfort. 

Suddenly AJ pushed her back and scrambled up. 

Mac turned red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Admiral, I shouldn't have . . ." 

"It's not that, Mac, it's just . . . no time to talk . . . ." He dashed into the bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time to dispose of everything he'd eaten or drunk in the last 12 hours. 

Wincing in sympathy, Mac took the opportunity to change the sheets, which were much worse for the wear of the last few hours. Finishing, she moved into the kitchen and returned just in time to witness the end of another bout of nausea. She stepped to the admiral's side and handed him a glass of day-glo green liquid. 

"Sorry, Major, putting anything in my stomach right now is going to be an exercise in futility," he said regretfully. "Especially anything that . . . particular . . . shade." 

"It's Gatorade. It'll give you back some electrolytes. Plus it'll give you something to throw up next time. Nothing worse than the dry heaves." 

"And how exactly do you know that?" 

"Because I spent the best years of my young life as a drunk. I know everything there is to know about throwing up, and then some," she explained philosophically. 

"Oh, sorry," AJ said uncomfortably. 

"Don't be. I think it's the main thing that keeps me sober. I HATE to throw up." 

"Me, too, but it doesn't look like I have much choice in the matter," he responded before returning his attention to the toilet. 

When the wave passed, he looked at Mac with embarrassment. "You know, you don't HAVE to watch me throw up. I'm sure there's something better on cable." 

"Are you kidding?" she teased. "I'm just mad I didn't bring my camera to the conference. If I had a picture of this, I'd never have to do a drunk and disorderly again. Besides, it'll save me running in here and checking on you every five minutes. Now just take one sip of the Gatorade to make me feel better, okay?" 

He complied, taking a long drink to wash the sour taste out of his mouth. Mac got up and brought in a pillow and blanket for each of them and they made themselves as comfortable as possible, since it didn't appear AJ would be going more than two feet from the toilet anytime soon and Mac was determined to keep an eye on him. They passed the time listing their favorite euphemisms for vomiting. Mac's was "the technicolor yawn" and AJ's was "selling Buicks on the back porch." 

"Selling Buicks on the back porch?" Mac asked. "I don't get it." 

"Well, you know," AJ tried to explain, "when you throw up you kind of make a sound like . . ." and then he gave her a graphic demonstration as another wave of nausea hit him. And sure enough, it sounded like he was yelling "BUICK!" Mac couldn't help but laugh. 

"I'm glad you find my misery so amusing, Major," AJ drawled. "You know, I seem to remember that a case just came in involving two Marines, a dog and some nuns. Something about "assault with a deadly dog." The nuns were walking back from Eastern Market past the base with some steaks and the dog forgot his training. I was going to give it to Bud, but . . . " 

"Sorry, Sir," Mac said, trying to wipe the smile off her face. 

He didn't have time to respond as he turned back to the toilet once again. Mac could see he was tiring out. She moved behind him and slipped an arm around his stomach, providing support as the contractions wracked him. 

"What was that?" he asked after he'd finished and Mac had moved back. 

"Harriett told me Bud used to do that for her when she was having morning sickness. She said it helped." 

"It did, actually," he admitted. 

"I'm afraid you're only getting half the service, though," she said, chuckling. 

"Why, what's the other half? 

"Uh, he held her hair out of the way," she explained. 

"Oh. Well, that won't be necessary, obviously," he said, rubbing a hand ruefully over his mostly-bald pate. 

"Don't worry about it, Sir, some women find bald men very sexy," she assured him. 

**** 

After a few hours of extended puking, AJ finally felt the nausea subside. At Mac's urging, he drank some Gatorade and nibbled on some crackers, then returned to bed and fell asleep . 

Exhausted, Mac eyed her bed longingly, but decided she'd better call JAG to let them know she and the admiral wouldn't be returning on schedule. She dialed the number and waited for the answer. 

"Petty Officer Tiner," came the familiar voice. 

"Tiner, this is Major MacKenzie," Mac said. 

"Major, aren't you supposed to be on a plane right now?" a confused Tiner asked. 

"Yes, but there's been a . . . problem. Look, I'm telling you the truth because you're going to have to cover for us, but DON'T tell anyone else, got that?" 

"Got it, Ma'am," Tiner said. 

"The admiral is ill. Malaria. He wouldn't go to the hospital, so I'm sort of nursing him through it here at the hotel. We'll be heading back tomorrow afternoon, but we won't be in the office until Friday." She gave him the revised flight information. "Just make up some plausible excuse, ok? I'm counting on you to keep this quiet, Petty Officer," she finished. 

"Yes, Ma'am!" Tiner said. "I won't let you and the admiral down, Major." 

Mac silently gave thanks for Tiner's useful enthusiasm . . . and his resourcefulness. He'd keep it a secret or die trying. "Very good, Petty Officer! Carry on!" she said. She hung up the phone and slipped into bed. 

**** 

Both Mac and AJ slept into the early evening. Mac got up first and went back to her room to shower and dress. When she returned, he was stirring. He took a shower while she changed his sheets and ordered up the blandest dinner she could find on the room service menu -- no sense taking chances with the admiral's stomach. 

After they ate, she felt comfortable enough to leave her CO alone for the night. He walked her to the door and bid her goodnight. 

**** 

The next morning, she dressed in her uniform and finished packing up her things. She carried her luggage over to the admiral's room and let herself in after a warning knock. AJ was dressed and ready to leave for the airport. As they walked out of his room together, they were startled to see the general from the reception walking down the hall. They exchanged greetings, and then AJ and Mac moved toward the elevators. 

"Figures we'd run into that guy," the admiral grumbled. 

"Don't worry, Sir," Mac said to cover her embarrassment. "He'll never guess you were sick. He'll just think we're having a raging love affair." 

"Even if he does, we're still safe," the admiral assured her. "If the rumors are true, he's been with at least three of his subordinates over the years. He wouldn't dare make any accusations." 

Mac relaxed. The last thing her career needed was for someone to think she was sleeping with her CO . . . again. 

During the elevator ride to the lobby, AJ firmly re-donned his Admiral's demeanor. The last 36 hours were moments out of time, and their events would have to be filed away in the drawer marked "Never Happened." Maybe in the dark hours of some lonely night he would pull them out and turn them over in his mind, but for now he pushed those thoughts away. Time to return to the real world. 

**** 

Friday saw them both back at work again and falling into their working relationship. The admiral had thanked her once again on the plane ride back for taking care of him, and then by unspoken agreement they had dropped the subject. 

Mac was sitting at her desk when Harm walked in. "So, what was the delay at the conference? Tiner was kind of vague," he asked casually. He was suspicious but trying not to show it. Mac thought he was deaf, dumb, and not just night-blind, but he'd sensed some tension between her and the admiral, especially after the admiral's party for Francesca. Surely they weren't . . . after the business with Farrow, Mac wouldn't . . . would she? And in such an obvious way, staying an extra day after a conference . . . He felt a stab of jealousy. 

Looking up at him, she knew what he was really asking. And frankly, it pissed her off. Didn't he give her credit for a LITTLE sense? Although, after the way she'd hidden the truth from him when he was defending her at her trial, she couldn't entirely blame him. Still, she decided to have a little fun. 

"Well, Harm, the truth is, the admiral was all hot and bothered, but he didn't want to let me do anything about it. I mean, I practically had to ORDER him to bed. But in the end, I had him COMPLETELY under my control. Oh, look at the time, I'm due in court." She stood up and walked past him, trying not to laugh at the stunned look on his face. She'd put him out of his misery tonight over pizza, but for now, she'd let him suffer. 

"Mac? What do you mean, ordered . . . . Mac!" Harm called, trailing after her. "Mac, get back here!"   
  


_THE END_   


_This story copyright 1999 by Sarah Brown, all rights reserved. May be redistributed as long as it is done at no charge._

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